Brony University
by Radicool223
Summary: References and jokes abound as an amateur fan fiction writer pursues his career at Brony University. PLEASE READ THE NOTES.
1. Friday One (Part 1)

I enter the blue and white doors of 'Auditorium A' of Brony University, levitating my bags, which are stuffed full with pencils and paper, with my unicorn horn. The campus is a nice place. I've run into several other ponies so far, but haven't really gotten to know any of them yet. I suppose it's time to do that.

I spot a blue earth pony stallion with a flat black mane standing a few feet away. His cutie mark is of a smiley yellow face with a gun leveled at it. It's odd, but I'm not one to judge, given the fact that I have no cutie mark of my own yet. I cautiously approach him and give my best smile. "Hi."

"Hello." He says back, returning the grin and offering his hoof in a gesture of greeting. "They call me James. What's your name?"

I shake his hoof. "I'm Radicool223. Nice to mee–"

A buzzing noise cuts me off, and James looks to his backpack. "Hang on," he says, reaching into the bag and pulling out a copy of the Qur'an, which is glowing and buzzing. He holds it up to his ear and his eyes narrow as he apparently hears something from inside the book. "Hello? Okay, I don't speak Arabic, dude. You're gonna have to speak English." He looks back at me and rolls his eyes, mouthing the words, 'It's another idiot. Good to meet you'.

Another stallion that I don't get to see for very long trots by, saying, "Nice phone book," to James, and then he's gone.

I frown, but then shrug the whole incident off, trotting over to an empty chair next to another pony, an earth mare. She's light blue with a yellowish-blonde mane with a few brown stripes through it, with a cutie mark of what looks like three poker cards. She glances over at me. "Oh my god. Professor de Lancie is speaking for the orientation this year. I am so excited."

She _sounds_ excited, but almost as if she's making an effort for her tone to sound like she's trying to make her sentences end with periods rather than exclamation points. I don't get the style of speaking, but smile anyway. "Cool." I say, levitating my bag to the ground. "I've heard some good things about him. Doesn't he teach one of the writing composition classes here?"

"And an acting class." The mare tacks on to the end of my sentence, while affirming what I said too. "That's where I am. My full name is IReallyLoveKimPossibleaLot," she begins, slurring some of the separate words of her name together, probably from practiced use of saying her name in introduction. "But most people just call me KP."

"Ah, nice to meet you, KP." I nod, trying to file away the rather long name for later, that is, if I ever run into her again after today. "I'm Radicool223. Do you–"

"Wait," she looks confused as she interrupts. "So your last name is 223? That's weird."

I laugh, because it's a question I get a lot. "No, my last name is my first name." I adjust my glasses, preparing to give an explanation that most ponies usually have to hear one or two times to understand. "So like, if I wanted to sign something, it would be Radicool223 Radicool223, or Mr. Radicool223, or Radicool223 R."

KP frowns for a second as the information sets in. After a moment, she takes a breath and says, "I don't get it."

I shake my head with a sigh. "Never mind. So do you take drama?"

She nods and smiles. "Yeah. I'm also doing a bit of analytics and drawing and other stuff, just to keep my options open. Professor de Lancie teaches a few of my classes this year. I haven't had him as a teacher before." She grins. "I love his work in drama."

I think to what I've seen Professor de Lancie in, and recall that he was in a sci-fi series a few years ago, and several movies since. "Yeah, I remember him from _Pony Trek_." I agree. "So I take it you're one of his fans?"

"Heck yeah I am!" she exclaims. "What clued you in?"

"Nothing." I laugh and she joins me. I like KP. I could see us becoming friends, if we ever see each other after today.

"So what are you doing for your classes?" KP asks.

"I'm doing fanfiction," I respond, trying to run through the classes that are on my schedule in my head. I give up after a few moments. "And other classes related to that, like grammar, I guess."

"Cool!" She smiles. "Do you have anything written out yet?"

I frown, wondering whether to tell her about the short few chapters I have of manuscript for my first fanfiction that are stored in my backpack, but then I realize that she might want to read it, and that could be pretty embarrassing, so I shake my head. "Nope, but I've got a lot of ideas."

"Sounds awesome." She responds with a grin.

The auditorium suddenly falls quiet, and a brown earth pony with a salt and pepper mane and tail and beard trots out, picking up the microphone set on center stage. He's wearing a blue and green and white suit, and has a very distinguished air about him.

Next to me, KP gasps. "That's him!"

I nod, filing the information that this is the stallion that might be teaching me my fanfiction class away for later.

Professor de Lancie clears his throat and begins to speak into the microphone. "Hello? Is this thing on?" he looks up to the sound loft up in the back of the auditorium, and apparently gets some confirmation from them, because he continues. "Yes? Good. Welcome, fillies and gentlecolts, to Brony University!" he begins to pace around the stage as he talks, walking on three legs while holding the microphone with the other. "Now, I know some of you who are new might be scared about the classes, and I am here to assure you that you needn't be. If you all just keep a good work ethic, I'm sure you'll do just fine."

He goes on with several topics of general information about lodging and rules at the university, but I zone out, seeing as I've already read this stuff in the student manuals they sent out several weeks earlier.

At the end of the talk, I rejoin reality and levitate my bag, preparing to leave for my dormitory along with the rest of the ponies. Just as I turn away, I hear KP clear her throat and say, "Hey, 223!"

I turn back around and see her holding her hoof out for a brohoof. She's got a huge smile on her face as she says, "Come on, you didn't think you could just leave without saying goodbye, did you?"

I hesitate uncertainly, but then smile back and return the brohoof. "I'll see you around, KP." I say.

She nods, as if she somehow has some knowledge that it'll happen. "Yep! See ya!" she trots off, carrying her bag in her teeth.

I turn around and exit the auditorium, levitating my backpack along after me. A smile crosses my face, and I realize that this whole going to a university without knowing anypony thing might not be that bad. I step out of the main hall of the fanfiction wing of the university campus, and head toward my dormitory.

**So, that's the intro. Now, just so you know, only some of the events in here actually correspond with anything in real life, so don't go reading this like a giant metaphor or something.**

**Now that that's out of the way, let's talk OCs.**

**I will make one thing very clear in this first chapter: I am accepting OCs as characters in this story, but with very strict guidelines, which are as follows, so READ CAREFULLY if you want to be in this.**

**1\. Only the first five reviewers who supply OC information that complies with the guidelines will be main characters along with my OC (note, all main characters (and probably all other characters) will be freshmen). All following submissions will be included in brief jokes and gags or as secondary cast depending on compliance with following guidelines.**

**2\. Only pony OCs are allowed. No anthropomorphic Sonic the Hedgehog-like characters, no humans, and no animals besides ponies.**

**3\. No gosh dang alicorns. All other types of pony are okay (unicorn, earth, or pegasus).**

**4\. OC information must include: name, gender, species, fur color, mane color, cutie mark (optional), interests, likes and dislikes (keep the list short-ish), defining characteristics (keep these real, guys), skills (once more, keep these real and believable and above all, realistically limited and few), classes (six maximum), and preferred role in story (I cannot guarantee anything here, but examples are roles such as: 'antagonist', 'protagonist', or specific things such as 'gets cutie mark in one chapter' or 'has some sort of relationship with another OC' along with other examples).**

**5\. Classes consist of the following: fanfiction, music, composition, analysis, art, pony history, music history, advanced grammar, art history, drama, music theory, art theory, literary theory, and sports (specifics of which sport to be included in OC information).**

**6\. If your OC is given too little information or said information is hard to understand, then do not expect them to have a huge role. The same goes for too much information, because that is too restricting for literary extrapolation, and I tend to get bored with reading such things. The closer to the guidelines the OC information, the more likely it is that they will have a larger role.**

**And I think that concludes the list. Dang, that took me a while to think up, but I think that covers all my bases.**

**Anyway, I hope that you will give this story a chance, and have fun reading it.**

**Radicool223 out!**


	2. Friday One (Part 2)

**Note: I'm starting to write this with only three characters that I've accepted so far, so if the fourth and onward don't appear till later, I'm sorry.**

The fanfiction wing of the campus' dorm room… or, I should probably say tower… is around four stories. It's painted in the general colors of Brony University–that is to say, royal blue and pure white. It looks striking against the night sky, and I can see why they picked the two colors. I check my room assignment, and see that I'm supposed to be in room 403, the fourth floor.

I'm nearly knocked over from behind as a tan pegasus with a dark brown mohawk rams into me in his haste to get to his room. My glasses go flying off my face and I hear a nasty crunch as the pegasus thunders past me, yelling, "Outta my way, nerds!"

I regain my composure slowly, and then realize that my glasses must've been stepped on by that pegasus, which would explain the crunching noise. I start to inwardly fume. That arrogant jerk! Why do ponies have to act so mean?!

I tell myself to calm down, and that I can get a new pair of glasses from an optometrist near the campus as soon as possible, but that does nothing to rectify the situation at hand, which is that I can barely see anything in front of me. It's like I'm trying to play a video game with graphics even worse than 8-bit.

I see a splotchy white blob move in front of me and a female's voice say, "Is that broken glass yours?"

I wonder what to say for a moment, before realizing that said broken glass must be my glasses, to which I nod and say, "Yeah. It doesn't matter, though, really."

"Oh really?" the blob, which I've decided by now must be a mare of some sort, scoffs. "How many hooves am I holding up?"

I strain to see something–no, anything–besides just vague shapes, but I can't even tell how many hooves she's holding up. I rub my eyes and try again, but still can't see anything at all besides a white blob. I shrug to express my helplessness.

The mare snorts in amusement. "You look silly when you think." I'm about to shoot back a cutting response, but then I hear magic being fired up, the mare mutter a quiet incantation, and then a second later my spectacles are being levitated back onto my face.

Now that I can see again, I see that my rescuer is a white unicorn mare. She's got a longish black mane that borders on spiky and wavy at the same time, and has a single, bright red streak shooting through it, like some painter decided she was a little too monochrome and used one swipe of red paint to fix that. Her eyes are somewhat strange, too. They have remarkably large black circles below them, and (**I'm sorry to all of you, I forgot to include eye color in the requirements. It's my fault, so I'm just going to take some creative license on that one**) are bright and pine tree green, which, though it seems they wouldn't fit with her color scheme, somehow do. Her cutie mark is odd as well, just a black silhouette of an owl. I can't figure what that could mean, but once again, I'm not in any position to judge. There's a smile across her face, like she's amused with my legal blindness. "Better?" she asks.

I readjust my glasses and clear my throat, trying to figure out what to say. I've never really had my glasses broken and then magically repaired by a unicorn before. "Um, yes. I mean–yes, it is. Thank you–uh…" I trail off, at a loss for what to call the mare.

"Night Owl." She supplies helpfully. "And no need to thank me. It's the least I can do." Her face takes on a serious edge. "Please forgive Tanner. He's from my high school. We're both freshmen here. He's a good guy, just a little… well…" it's her turn to trail off, unable to think of how to describe her acquaintance.

I don't believe her claim that this Tanner is 'a good guy' by a long shot, but I nod anyway. "Okay. My name's Radicool223. Good to meet you." I extend a hoof and we shake in formal greeting.

"Good to meet you, Radicool223." She says my name out fully, unlike most other ponies I know, who shorten it in some way, like KP with her whole '223' thing. "So, what room are you in?"

"402." I reply.

"I'm on the same floor, room 401. I think it's separated by gender." She pulls out her schedule and points to the large 401, circled in red marker. I notice that we share a few classes at the same times. She smiles. "I hope we can be friends. You seem pretty cool."

"I hope we can too. I mean, I owe you one, anyway." I tap my glasses to indicate that I mean her repairing them, and then yawn hugely, casting an eye up to the moon in the sky. "Oh Faust (**yes, Lauren Faust. Get used to that expression**)… it's getting kind of late, isn't it?"

Night Owl grins wider. "Maybe for _you_. I'm going to be up all night writing some fanfiction."

"Wait, you write fanfiction too?" I ask, suddenly interested. "What kind?"

"I'm really into a bit of mystery, mostly graphic murders." She pulls a slightly insane face on that last bit, and makes me smile. "But anyway, three words of advice for you, Radicool223: loosen the tie."

She trots away, leaving my alone on the lawn of the dormitory tower. I put a hoof to my blue tie and straighten, wondering whether she actually mean that last bit.

The interior is quite nice. There's a weight room and rec room down to the left, and a kitchen to the right, open for student use (though there's a sign with an angry chef pony on it holding a dough roller as if it's a weapon, with the text reading, 'clean up your mess, we ain't your mama!'). I take note of this and leave a sandwich in the refrigerator, that being my breakfast for the next morning.

I climb the three flights of stairs up to the fourth floor, taking note that the third floor seems to be home to a bunch of loud partiers, while the second floor is completely quiet. That's not very good, having the 'party' floor sandwiched in between the two others. I take some consolation in the fact that I'm way too tired to be kept up by anything at this point.

Locating the door number 402, I use my room key to open the door, and take note that there's a dark brown pegasus stallion lying fast asleep on the bottom bunk of one of the two bunk beds, his mane somewhat resembles Night Owl's in coloring, but the red streaks are darker, and the style seems a bit more windswept, like he's been in a wind tunnel recently.

I'm too tired to think of much more than that and the fact that there are two empty bunks at the moment, so I set my glasses on a dresser, drop my bags on the ground, and crash on the other bottom bunk, not even bothering to pull the covers over me, and then I'm asleep.

**And that is that! So, there are the first three OCs somewhat introduced, and the first night done. Just so you know, all five of the OC slots have been filled, but there are still chances for secondary cast.**

**But other than that, I'm really excited for this story. Prepare for a wild ride, guys. Prepare yourselves.**


	3. Friday One (Part 3)

**Time for the next chapter. Oh yeah! I'm feeling the burn here. This is the third chapter in one day! Time to do this!**

**ALSO, I PLEASE IMPLORE YOU TO REMEMBER THIS: that after last chapter, nothing… well, almost nothing… is metaphorical. This will just be me working with the characters almost like a sitcom, with jokes about real life, but only very occasional metaphorical moment. PLEASE REMEMBER.**

I wake up to a tickle on my nose and instinctively put a hoof to my face in order to relieve it, my eyes snapping open as a creamy substance hits my face before my hoof. It's whitish, and my mind immediately goes somewhere else before realizing that it's shaving cream. I sit up and wipe the cream away, fumbling in my legal blindness for my glasses. I manage to grab them and put them on, blinking to clear my vision. "Wh-what the?" I splutter, continuing to wipe the cream off.

The perpetrator in this little even happens to be a pegasus colt sitting in front of me with a huge floppy grin on his face. He's got a dark brown coat of fur and a mane with coloring similar to Night Owl's, but the red streak is more jagged, almost like lightning rather than a bit of a wavy stripe. His amused eyes are icy blue, ecstatic at his successful prank. "Gotcha, new roommate!" he laughs. "Catch you after classes!" Then he hightails it out of the room before I can say anything.

I vaguely register that this was the guy I'd seen sleeping last night… or I'd at least thought he was. Of course, my brain functioning is extremely limited before I've had my coffee in the morning, which, speaking of… I have no idea where I'm going to find. I briefly wonder whether there's a Sunbutt's Coffee around here or not, but that takes a lot of processing power that I just don't have yet.

So in place of coffee, I decide to splatter some cold water from the bathroom in my face, which of course is at least negative 20 degrees Celsius and nearly freezes my face off.

I silently hope that my day can't get any worse, which of course is going to jinx it into being officially my worst day ever. But I decide to not dwell on that little bit of superstition and instead put on my tie and trot downstairs.

There's a large crowd of ponies downstairs collected eating breakfasts of assorted… things. I can't really be bothered to count how many different types of breakfast there are, nor how many ponies there actually are. I do notice hay fries and pancakes and waffles, though. I, however, make my way to the refrigerator and open in, hoping to see my sandwich where I left it. But instead of that, I find an empty shelf with a note that says 'IOU one sandwich' signed with a name I don't recognize.

I frown and narrow my eyes, feeling a little bit of anger from this. Or… 'a little bit' might be a slight… large understatement. I shut the door a little harder than normal, turning around with a growl at not being able to eat the sandwich I'd taken so much time to prepare yesterday morning.

I look around, trying to find Night Owl, hoping she might be able to spare an apple or something. I locate her over at a table, laughing and talking with… dear Faust, it's that guy from my room. He's standing at the oven of the kitchen, frying some vegetables on a pan and cooking toast with the same huge grin as before. He seems to be… flirting with Night Owl. Oh, that's nice.

I have no idea why that irks me so much, but he looks like he knows what he's doing with the whole cooking aspect, so that doesn't leave me much choice. I have to appeal to whatever connections I have with anypony since I don't have any bits on hand… and there they are, sitting at the same table.

I trot over and sit on a stool over where I can talk to the person at the oven. I suppose I should explain about the whole setting there. There's a square indentation for where the kitchen could be, walled in like sort of a blocky question mark, if you were looking at the open end of the kitchen. On the point where you'd start the hook of the question mark… or perhaps the left wall of the square if you kept the same vantage point as looking at it like from the question mark… there's a rectangular hole in the wall with stools on the other side, where ponies can commune with the chef while he or she cooks. That's where the two ponies I know are, and where I decide to sit.

The stool, being old as it looks, creaks under the slightest amount of weight that I put under it, and the pegasus colt glances up from his cooking with a sly smile on his face. "Watch out roommate, I think you might be putting on some pounds there."

I narrow my eyes and glare at him. "Hey, I'm perfectly average weight for my size." I snap.

Night Owl glances over at me with amusement in her green eyes. "Lighten up, Radicool223. After all, you might just have," she snorts with laughter, barely able to cough out the next two words, because she's already cracking up at her own joke that she hasn't even made. "Loose stools!"

She and the pegasus burst into laughter, and I roll my eyes, getting even more annoyed. "Yeah, really funny." I mutter. "Say, I never got your name." I say loudly, turning my attention to the pegasus.

"Ah, yes, Radicool223." He nods to me and turns his attention back to his cooking of… jalapeno toast, I suppose it looks like. "I'm Jet Stream, chef extraordinaire who could completely kick your butt in a Pokémon battle or anything else 'video game'."

"Unlikely." I scoff, about to get into an argument before realizing what exactly I came here for. "Uh, well I know this is awkward, but do you suppose you have an extra slice of toast on hoof? I'll repay you later." I add quickly.

Jet Stream appears to deliberate for a while in his mind before leaning forward slightly and asking with squinted eyes. "What do you suppose would be in it for me?"

"A chance to hone your 'extraordinary toast making skills'." I say sarcastically, returning the look and motion.

"I don't know if I feel comfortable cooking for somepony with loose stools." Jet counters.

Night Owl laughs a little at that joke before glancing first at Jet, and then at me, before making a small sound like 'huh', clearing her throat, and saying, "Wow, can't you just _smell_ the testosterone in here."

Jet and I ignore her. "Here," I say coldly, handing him the slip of paper with the IOU on it. "That's what's in it for you. Uh…" I glance at the name upside down on the paper. "'Joey' owes you a sandwich."

Jet stares at the paper for a moment before breaking out in a smile again and pocketing it. "Hah! Okay, Radicool223! I think you and I can get along. Here." He flips a slice of toast from the frying pan (now that I think about it, that's a bit of an unorthodox way of cooking toast) into the air at me and I catch it with my magic. He puts a few of the vegetables on it along with a couple of spices and some salt. "Eat it, it's good."

I struggle to figure out what just happened, and who exactly just won the argument before realizing that the entire situation had just dissolved into nothing. "Uh, thanks…" I say, my voice betraying my surprise.

While Jet turns to check something on the oven, Night leans over to me and mutters, "Give him a chance. I think he's just one of those ponies who likes to get to know you with a practical joke."

I nod in response, having known one of those types back in high school.

Cautiously I take a bite of the toast, spices and all, and then realize that I've taken a bite of fire in solid form. I sit for a moment as my mouth heats up, and Night comments on my state, narrowing her sleepless eyes as if she's worried, "Uh, Radicool? Does your face normally turn red when you eat?"

I shoot her a killer glare before running over to the sink, grabbing a glass with my magic, and beginning to drink refill after refill to attempt to calm the burning in my mouth before realizing that it's already gone away.

"That's what the bread is for, Radicool!" Jet calls from the oven, and I wipe the water off my mouth, laughing slightly to myself and frowning.

"Thanks for the warning!" I call back, trotting back over to my seat and sitting back down. I continue to eat the toast, but remove the spices and vegetables this time, just to be safe.

Breakfast continues without another incident. The three of us get to know each other better, and then begin discussing classes. It turns out that all of our third class of the day turns out to be at the same time and is the same class, fanfiction. The first two are different, however, so we won't see each other until then.

"Hey, you guys want to meet up at that Starbutt's Coffee over near where the seminar takes place after the class?" Night asks.

"I'll be there." I shrug, knowing that I probably need the energy anyway, even if it weren't an excuse to get to know some possible friends better.

"Sure, I'll go too, even though Loose Stools is coming." Jet adds with a glance at me.

I roll my eyes, accepting that this is probably going to be my nickname forever.

"Okay, see you guys later!" Night sticks her tongue out, squeezes her eyes shut, and screws up her face. Her horn lights up and she vanishes in a flash of red light.

I decide to take the simpler way out and do a long-distance teleportation of my backpack from my room straight to myself and levitate it behind me as I trot toward the door of the building.

On my way out, I notice some of the party floor ponies, including a muscular tan pegasus who I have to assume is the guy who knocked my glasses off and crushed them last night. I growl as I pass him and he flicks a crushed soda can at me. I conjure up a small shield of my green magic with trampoline qualities and let it spring right back at him and rebound off the table into the trash can.

This small little victory under my belt, I exit the building and trot out to my first class, music history.

**Chapter completed! I'm having so much fun with this stuff!**


	4. Friday One (Part 4)

I push open the door of Starbutt's Coffee, a small chain shop east of the dorm rooms. The shop is as familiarly warm and brownish as usual. The smell of coffee is in the air, and I close my eyes just to stop and smell it for a moment. It's almost as if the smell of coffee is as rejuvenating as the actual liquid itself.

I stop at the counter and quickly place my order and pay before I hear a voice from over at the chairs and couches by the window. "Hey, loose stools!"

With that element of quickish speech pattern and that nickname, I know it has to be Jet Stream, given that there's literally nobody has heard that name except him and Night Owl. I roll my eyes and walk over to join them, taking a seat on a heavily padded chair. There's no real way to make fun of that one, so I take comfort in the fact that I can't be easily jested at.

There are two new ponies that I haven't seen before with the two that I have. One is a pegasus mare who has a long mane of seven colors that almost resembles Rainbow Dash's, but with an extra color and extra length. Her eyes are light blue, and her coat is a pale gray that almost resembles a more faded shade of worn concrete. Her cutie mark is of a medium blue pencil writing on a piece of blank white paper that already has unintelligible black scribbles on it already. I catch one more glimpse of her eyes and realize that my looking at her with such scrutiny has made her uncomfortable, based on the slight shrinking of her pupils and the way her smile has tightened to the point of almost vanishing, so I glance away and at the other two newcomer.

He's also a pegasus, but a stallion instead. He looks almost like… as if a forest decided that it wanted to squeeze out all its color into a giant jar and did, and then a pony had come across that jar and thought it would be a good idea to swim in it. That was what he seemed to be. His fur was a solid, lightish green, and his mane didn't vary much from that, being only a darker shade of green, like a pine forest rather than a summer glade. His eyes broke the pattern, however, being crimson red like berries in the middle of a Christmas wreath. His cutie mark is one of a gray Playstation controller and, almost like his eyes, broke the continuity enough to make it stand out even more against the wash of green, I notice that he seems to be exchanging impish looks with Jet Stream, and that makes me all the more wary.

The gray pegasus breaks the silence. "Hi, I'm Streak–" she breaks off, shaking her head. "Sorry, _Prismatic_ Streak. You don't know me yet, so you wouldn't call me Streak…" her speech kind of deteriorates into quick muttering, so it's like she's not actually talking to _me_, and rather to herself. She clears her throat and begins again. "I'm Prismatic Streak. What's your name?"

"I'd assume it's not 'loose stools' like Jet's told me, right?" the green pegasus asks, solidifying for me that he's not as jocular as the brown pegasus who he's just referred to, yet still able to act enough like him to make me wonder whether they aren't actually brothers and my whole forest theory isn't wrong. I suppose that might be a bit of jumping to conclusions on my part, but it seems so obvious from what I've seen so far that jumping to a conclusion would be justified this once.

I push my glasses further up my snout, seeing as they've started to slide down a little, and then immediately realize that that action makes me look like a complete nerd. This causes for a slight break in composure at the beginning of my sentence. "Ah, er, no. No, my name's Radicool223." To hide my slight slip, I shoot the question right back at them. "Who are _you_, anyway?"

The gray pegasus starts to try to speak to answer the question for the green one, but then she's interrupted by him when he pushes a plain donut glazed on a plate across the small coffee table that connects the three chairs and one couch that we five inhabit at the moment. "Here, Radicool, have a donut." He says nonchalantly. "I had an extra."

"I..." I begin, stopping my sentence halfway through as suspicion wells up. I glance over at Night Owl, who's sitting on the couch next to Jet. She shoots me a look that seems to convey several emotions, many of which I can't see closely enough to enumerate, but the ones that are prevalent: almost pity, anticipation, amusement, and something else that I can't really figure out quicker than the time I have to respond to the green pegasus. I have to assume he'd being genuine. "Okay, thanks, whatever your name is." I levitate the donut up to my mouth and take a bite.

This action immediately leads to me spitting it back out (thankfully onto the plate I'd gotten it from) in disgust at the plainly salty taste of it. It isn't even completely salt, which would've been okay, but some sort of mixture of sugary glaze and salt granules from a salt shaker. "What in the–what was that?!"

The green pegasus and Jet burst into laughter at my reaction, and the green one extends his hoof for a hoofshake that seems genuine. "Silicon Sparks; nice to meet you."

Night Owl's expression suddenly turns into one of apologetic sympathy. "Sorry about that, Radicool223. I didn't _want _to let them do that to you, I just couldn't really stop them." She blows a strand of her black mane out of her face and begins. "So, we know each other now, and I suppose I should explain how we found Streak and Sparky, here."

Jet frowns. "Hey, he's no more of a 'Sparky' than she–" he points at Streak, "Is a 'Streak-er'."

Streak's pale gray complexion turns completely red with embarrassment at that suggestion that she would do something like that (though I must note that it's a bit of a suggestion that would only hold ground if ponies wore clothes all the time, and as it is, we _don't_. Nobody cares if we do or don't). "Wha–come on!" she becomes flustered at this and seems unable to go on with a defense of herself.

"Hey, lay off, man." Sparks glares at Jet, furthering my perception of him as a perpetrator of a lighter degree of the whole 'making fun' spectrum.

"_Anyway_." Night continues, attempting to regain order. "Sparks and Jet were friends back in high school and met up today, and I met Streak in Music History, and we all came here. I think that about sums it up."

I give an understanding nod. "Okay. That makes sense."

The conversation proceeds as normal first meetings do, discussing likes and dislikes, interests and other aspects of ourselves.

Night Owl is… pretty much my first impression of her. She's quite into the more dark and depressing side of things, but her sense of humor about that and other things is spot on, even funnier than the mile-a-minute joking Jet Stream.

Jet talks fast, thinks fast, and uses all that natural conversational and debating talent to… make jokes. I honestly can't tell why he would choose to do _that_ over anything else, but it's funny anyway, if it's not me he's poking fun at.

Streak is quiet and for the most part keeps her opinions to herself. I would simply pass that off as her just being shy if it weren't for the fact that she'd said some very _not_ shy things in the beginning of the conversation. As the talking progressed she'd seemed to open up gradually, smiling more and occasionally putting her own opinions into the mix. From that I can infer that she's just slow to warm up to others and only needs time to get to know them.

Sparks, on the other hand, is a natural at this whole talking thing. He's at ease and perfectly comfortable in conversation with the rest of us. He's nice enough and funny, and it's great talking to him.

As the clock ticks to eleven in the morning, I hear my name called for my coffee, and agree to meet with the rest at our next class which we happen to all share (though that's not really a big coincidence, given that Brony University only has a few classes), fanfiction.

**Just so you know, the next chapter will be the end of this story arc (or episode). I've come up with ideas for the next few story arcs (or episodes). The list of these are:**

**1) ****(This one) Friday One**

**2) ****Taco Tuesday (takes place on a Tuesday)**

**3) ****The Girl From Sweden (takes place on the Saturday after last episode)**

**I'm looking forward to writing these, and I think that with these characters (and the few I haven't used yet) I can really make something great out of this. Thank you all for your support.**


	5. Friday One (Part 5)

**So as I remember, I left off about… here. So let's begin.**

I trot into the hall that the fanfiction class takes place in, an almost identical yet smaller replica of the main auditorium where Professor de Lancie gave the introduction speech. He's standing in nearly the exact same spot on the stage, fiddling with a microphone that seems to be making a lot of crackling and popping noises, causing those in the hall to flinch at every loud noise. As I watch, Professor de Lancie gives the microphone a stern look and holds up a hoof. I immediately think he's about to hit it, but then he… snaps his hoof?

I double take at that noise, given that only fingered or clawed creatures can snap their fingers or claws. Though that might sound slightly redundant, what it means is that an earth pony, like Professor de Lancie, shouldn't be able to do that. But unless I'm having a really long nightmare and this is just a part of it, he just has. I adjust my glasses and take a closer look and see that the microphone has magically righted itself, and the wires and other things are suddenly connected properly.

Professor de Lancie catches me staring and glares at me with a wild grin and mismatched red pupils over yellow eyes, different than his usual gray. He holds a hoof up to his mouth and makes the 'shh' motion. I slowly turn away and take a seat, hoping that he's not now planning murder for my having witnessed that. I could honestly swear I've seen that type of ability somewhere, the 'snap to make crud happen' thing, but I can't recall where. Then again, I do have a vivid imagination. Perhaps I'm deluding myself.

About ten minutes later and after my four new friends joined me, Streak at my left, Jet at my right, and Night Owl and Sparks behind me, the class begins.

"Good afternoon, students!" Professor de Lancie says through the microphone so that it projects throughout the hall. "Now I know that in order to write things well you must have correct grammar, but for this class, throw that rule out the window!"

Some of the other students begin to glance at each other questioningly, because this is a completely different prompt than any other classes of this sort might give about grammar during the first class.

"That is," Professor de Lancie continues. "If you're taking that grammar class we offer here at the University, because you'll learn there if not here. If you are not, mind your grammar. This will be in effect for the first semester, and then after that, I'll grade _all_ of you for grammar. Understood?"

There's a collective murmuring of 'yes' in response.

"Excellent!" Professor de Lancie smiles widely. He pulls out several pieces of paper and places them on the podium next to the microphone. After shuffling them a few times, he begins to read. "Now, one of the most greatly known fanfictions of all time is _50 Shades of Gray_ which, though it began as a fanfiction, with a few tweaks was made into a book of its own, and now a movie. Why is this important? Because it is an example of how much popularity a simple fanfiction can get."

ONE LONG LECTURE LATER

I stay interested the entire time that Professor de Lancie talks, because he's quite an animated and attention-holding speaker, and not only that, the content is also interesting. By the end of the next fifty minutes, I've taken at least two pages of notes.

Behind me, Sparks has fallen asleep and is drooling on the back of Streak's seat. She's attempting to move his head from where she'd rest hers if he wasn't there, but to not much avail. Jet seems to have drawn a quite detailed picture of a dragon eating a pony knight. Night Owl seems to be the only one actually paying attention, besides me, though her bottom right eyelid is twitching from fatigue. I take a moment to worry about her sleep pattern before turning by attention back to the front.

Professor de Lancie seems to be still fiddling with his papers at the moment, so I look down at the rest of the students. I can see that guy from before, who made the phone book remark to Animated James yesterday. This time he's wearing a camo sweatshirt with _BlackGryphon_ written in white lettering on the back. It takes me a while to read it, but I manage.

Then I look a little bit to his right and nearly fall out of my chair in shock. Sitting in the second row is that Tanner pegasus, the one who broke my glasses last night and threw a soda can at me just this morning. I immediately expect to see him one a bPhone, texting or something, but instead he's earnestly reviewing the notes he appears to have taken during the lesson. It almost makes me laugh, to see this super athletic jock studying like a wide-eyed second grader, but I know if I do the hall is small enough that he'll hear me, and so I don't want to risk it. I will have to remember that information for later, though, if blackmail ever has to be used.

Streak finally gives up after Sparks starts snoring and pushes him backwards with an annoyed look on her face, flinching after that motion causes him to fall over onto his side on the floor of the row with a loudish noise, since he knocked over his water bottle. Sparks gets up and stares at Streak with bleary eyes. "What was that for?"

Streak begins to reply with an angry look on her face, "Because you were–" but after Professor de Lancie gives a quiet 'ahem' that's magnified by the microphone so that it's not quiet at all anymore, accompanied by a pointed look up at our group, she shuts her mouth with a small blush and turns back around.

"Now that _that's_ settled," Professor de Lancie says with an edge to his tone, and even from my current vantage point I think I can see the crazy eyes from before again. "The next think I would like for you to do is an in-class assignment: to write a one thousand word fanfiction. Now," he continues, shuffling his papers once again. "There are a few requirements, and by 'a few', I mean 'mostly made up of'. They are: 1) it must be a romance story between Applejack and Trenderhoof, 2) it must contain at least one prevalent theme, and 3) it must take place _after_ the episode of Trenderhoof's introduction. Understood? Then begin. You may leave after you've finished."

There's a small consensus of affirmative muttering from the class, and a slow move to take out paper, and of then comes the question I know one of our group will ask:

"Anyone have any paper?" Jet asks, scratching the top of his head with a pencil.

Night Owl sighs as she brings out several leaves of college-ruled paper from a folder in her backpack. "Everyone take a few," she says to all of us, and we all gladly accept. "Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one prepared for anything…"

I consciously go into 'the zone', as I like to call it, a little state of mind in which I completely tune out everything else and focus on only my ideas and writing, as I set my paper on a book to write on. However… something's different this time. All of the planning I usually have to do in order to get all my ideas straight… suddenly seems unnecessary. Everything appears clearly in front of my eyes, and all I have to do is write it.

So I do.

All I'm focused on when I'm writing is making sure that I'm levitating my pencil in the right ways to make the right letters and that the mechanical pencil still has lead pushed out to write with. I end up blazing through two sheets of paper, back and front, and two sticks of 0.7 lead. Apparently what I don't notice at the time but am told later is that I'm giving off a light blue glow and my pencil is literally creating smoke on the paper.

Before I know it, I'm finished. Apparently, by the way the clock reads, it only took me twenty minutes to write all that. I take ten more to count the number of words, and sure enough, it's over one thousand.

Smiling slightly, I walk up to Professor de Lancie and proudly hand him my paper. He looks mildly surprised at it being complete in just thirty minutes, but after reviewing it and estimating the number of words, he nods. "Very good, Mister… Radicool223," he reads, catching my name off where I signed it at the top of the first page. "You may go."

As I turn to leave, he gives me a parting comment, "Oh, and I'd advise looking at your cutie mark. It's glowing."

I get back to my seat before I fully process what he means by that comment, and then I turn my head to look at my flanks. A wide grin spreads across my face when I see what is now there, a surprise to me because at the start of my paper it was not: a cutie mark of a flaming pencil. I've gotten my cutie mark, and for exactly what I hoped it would appear for.

Night Owl glances up at me incredulously as I levitate my bags out of my seat and to where I stand in the aisle of the auditorium. _How the heck did you do that?_ she mouths, and as I glance down at her paper, I see she's still halfway through page three.

I grin and shrug in response, and then I notice that Streak is staring at me, and not specifically at me, but at my cutie mark. She sees me looking, and though her staring doesn't actually mean anything more than interest in the mark, she quickly looks back down at her paper with a small sentence, "Sorry, I didn't mean to–I mean…" after that she trails off into steadily less intelligible words and then into simple high pitched noise. I notice she doesn't seem to write anything after this, but instead just stares at what she's already written.

Not sure of what to make of this, I accept a brohoof from Sparks and begin to make my way out of the auditorium before realizing that there's now a note stuck to the back of my head, which I immediately peel off. It reads: _Punch Me_.

I glare over at Jet and see him flashing me an evil look. I roll my eyes and discard the note in the wastebasket as I leave, keeping one thing in mind: watch out for Jet Stream.

**End of arc 1! Now, if I'm correct, I'll start working on arc 2, titled 'Taco Tuesday'. Just so you know, I'm waiting until the second arc to include a secondary OC (Tacosaurus), so that means that you, reader, are still able to submit an OC for inclusion. Please keep that in mind as you keep reading, and remember, follow, favorite, and review, and see you next arc.**

**Radicool223 out!**


	6. Taco Tuesday (Part 1)

**Brony University is back! Today I'll be beginning the Taco Tuesday arc, and introducing a primary-and-a-half character, Queen Tacosaurus. I looked over the characters I have at my freedom to use, and thought that this one might add a little life to the character interaction. I'm willing to have a few more primary-and-a-half characters, but the main six are still going to be the ones I focus on.**

**Also, please remember, I'm just having fun with the characters at this point. I'm not trying to say anything about anything in real life. I can't stress enough how important it is you remember that.**

**Anyway, on with the chapter!**

TOLD FROM JET STREAM'S PERSPECTIVE

I look up from my Nintendo 3DS, where I'm currently playing competitive wireless Pokémon ORAS with some guy from Switzerland, as Radicool223 storms in through the door, slamming it behind himself. "Life sucks," he says, dropping his bags on his bunk and kicking his pillow into the wall.

"See, this is the kind of perspective that leads to not being happy," I say absentmindedly, losing the opportunity for some funny joke that I could have thought of if I'd focused on it, as I unleash a volt tackle on the Swiss guy's level 89 Crobat, oneshotting it.

There's an awkward silence that continues for a couple of seconds after that. I know that Radicool's waiting for me to ask what had happened to get him in this mood, but I honestly just don't want to. I can just hear the canned sitcom laughter as the seconds drag on and on, and right as the Swiss guy sends out a Golem, I feel the pressure build up, and blurt out, "What the heck happened today?"

He groans and sinks onto his bunk, massaging his temples with his forehooves. He readjusts his glasses and begins his story.

"When I got to 9:00 AM grammar class, I ran into KP, IReallyLoveKimPossibleALot, I'm not sure if you've met her, and she was really nice for a minute or two, but then some tan pegasus guy that I think I've met before then started calling her names, like the Overanalyst, and PhilosoGirl."

"What's so bad about that?" I ask, glancing up from the battle (I've just sent out a Gliscor).

Radicool glares at me. "Well, I'm sorry if you think name calling should just be second nature, but for most people it's really offensive."

"Yeah, I get that, but those names weren't bad at all."

"If you were an analyst you'd understand," Radicool sighs, his little moment of anger now fading away. "Anyway, so he starts calling her names, and then I start defending her, so this guy pushes me, and then I remember that this is the guy who broke my glasses on the orientation day. So then I shove him back, and we're about to get into this fight, and then Night Owl shows up and stops us fighting, and then she gets mad at _me_ for getting mad at him, because she knew him back in high school, and we get into a shouting match and KP leaves awkwardly, and I… I just feel terrible about the whole thing." He puts his face in his hooves and sighs heavily.

I KO the Swiss guy's last Pokémon with a venoshock and set the system down on the table beside me, preparing to go into a bit of what most people call 'guy talk'. "Hey, it's natural to feel a little bad after you get mad at someone you like."

"Someone I like?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"You like Night, don't you?" I clarify. "It's so obvious."

"Obvious?" Radicool looks even more confused than before. "What's obvious about anything with us?"

"Oh come on," I say, rolling my eyes and tapping my hoof impatiently, waiting for him to understand what everyone else knows already. "You spend most of your downtime with her, you always bring her up, like you just did, it's so completely obvious that you like her."

Radicool frowns and his gaze becomes clouded as he looks at the floor. "I don't think I do… but…" He shifts his gaze towards the ceiling, "Do I?"

"Well, you continue with your inner searching, PhilosoGuy," I joke, picking the 3DS and setting it to find a match. "And maybe I can get someone from Mexico to battle me this time."

He looks at me questioningly. "How in heck do you plan to pass any classes at all?"

I grin. "I guess I'll just 'wing it'," I say with the inflection of a bad pun, unfolding a wing and laughing at my own joke.

Radicool doesn't laugh.

THE NEXT DAY

RADICOOL223'S POV

Today is Tuesday. That's going to become ironic very soon, but not yet. Streak and I had met up at the Starbutt's to do homework, but the conversation quickly shifted into other things.

"But I thought you told me that _Jet_ liked Night Owl," Streak says, looking as confused as I feel. "Why would he suggest something like that, if that was the case?"

I shrug, taking a sip of my coffee and sighing. "I don't know. Don't ask me."

Streak shakes her head as if to clear it and puts on a smile, but it seems forced for some reason. The look in her eyes tells me that she doesn't mean it. "Well, that's great for you, isn't it?"

I levitate my coffee back down to the table and exhale heavily, shaking my head and squeezing my eyes shut. "That's what I don't know. I mean," I open my eyes once again and stare at the ceiling. "Three days isn't much time to let those kind of feelings develop, but I think they might be there anyway."

Streak nods in understanding, staring directly at my face in a manner that almost makes me think she doesn't realize she is. "They do kind of tend to just… spring up inside you, don't they?" she says slowly. A moment passes, and then she seems to review what she's just said and gives a tiny gasp, covering her mouth with both hooves. Her cheeks turn a light shade of pink. "Uh, you understand, right?"

I shrug, confused at both her actions and her speech. "Actually, no, I don't. I've never been in love before. I have no idea what it feels like."

She shifts uncomfortably. "Um, I don't really think _I_ should be the one to tell you about it. It's probably different for guys than for girls."

"Oh, come on," I press, my curiosity getting the better of me. "It can't be _that_ different. Tell me."

Streak takes a deep breath and leans in a little closer so that our faces are just more than a foot apart. I take a moment to notice that the slight pink that had appeared on her face was steadily growing darker. "Well, it's like when you look at someone and feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and you know that you're meant for each other. You look for them and think about them all the time, and when you see them you just want to–"

"Streak!"

She then leans back so that she tips her chair so far backward that she nearly falls out of it. "Uh, well, you know, uh… you'll know it when you feel it," she stammers, turning her attention to the sudden voice. "Tacosaurus! Hi!"

I look toward the voice as well, and am surprised to see a mare wearing a strangely-patterned blue hoodie approaching us quickly with a huge smile on her face. She's slightly taller than the average height of most ponies I know (**sorry, I'm taking a bit of creative license here**), which immediately makes me feel self-conscious about my own height (which is actually quite tall, so when I meet someone that rivals it, I start actually thinking about it). I don't see the point of the hoodie, because her long blonde mane couldn't even begin to fit inside the hood. I'm immediately reminded of the Dazzlings from _Rainbow Rocks_, but I try to put aside that image.

I almost immediately feel some sort of unconscious lowering of my guard against her when I notice her glasses, because I've found something that we share that doesn't make my feel self-conscious. Her eyes seem to be a mix of several colors, and I can only begin to describe them as a grayish turquoise, which immediately confuses me. I automatically turn my attention to her cutie mark, a habit that developed when I didn't have one of my own and that has still stuck around even after I received it a few days ago. Hers is of golden-colored traditional theater masks (happy face/sad face) encircled by yellow stars. I automatically take this to mean she has natural talent as an actor.

The hoodie, upon a closer look, turns out to have the pattern of a TARDIS on it. This makes me lower my guard even more, because I now know we have a mutual love of _Doctor Who_. That, besides the _Pokémon_ anime, has been my favorite show for years now. I'm not an active participant in the fandom, but I can tell this mare is.

"Brilliant to see you again, Streak!" she says in a heavy English accent, smiling even wider and sitting down on the chair next to me. "I was so happy when you invited me to join you here! I was beginning to get worried that classes had you swamped, but this is proof against that, eh?" she looks at me scrutinizingly. "Who's your boyfriend, Streak?"

Streak gulps. "Um, he's not my boyfriend, Tacosaurus," she says in a small voice.

"Oops, my bad," Tacosaurus says, not losing a scrap of her boisterous tone. She grins apologetically. "You've got to pardon my assumption. I mean, seeing you two alone here together talking so intently, it wasn't hard to imagine–"

"Yeah, I think we get it," I say, nodding. It's not embarrassing to me at all, but judging by Streak's reaction, it is for her. I change the topic to try to avoid any unnecessary awkwardness that might be floating around the room. "So, your name's Tacosaurus?"

"Yep!" she says, nodding. "Well, actually, it's Queen Tacosaurus 101. My parents had a bit of fun naming me, but it turned out well in the end. Some people actually think I'm royalty and treat me like it! Can you believe that?"

"No…" I mutter under my breath. Then I suddenly remember what day it is and frown. "So, you're Tacosaurus… and I'm meeting you on Tuesday?"

"Yes, why?"

"Nobody's getting this?"

"No. Getting what?"

"I… I've forgotten already."

"Uh, so I met Tacosaurus last Sunday," Streak interrupts what's going to eventually spiral downwards into confused silence. "We were both going to the 10:30 pony history class and ran into each other at the exit. We got to talking and agreed to meet up sometime."

Tacosaurus, for the first time, appeared to look something other than lively and happy. "Yes, and it's great that we met up today, but there's something I need help with."

"Oh. What is it?" Streak asks, diverting all of her attention to her friend.

Tacosaurus sighs. "Well, It's actually something only _he_ can help me with."

I look up from the analysis paper I've started writing on again about the _Slice of Life_ episode, and am surprised to see that she's pointing at me. "Uh… me?" I ask hesitantly, slowly setting down my pencil. "What can I do that Streak can't?"

"Er, you see, I've kind of gotten into an argument with this tannish pegasus guy, and I'm slightly worried he'll take it more personally than I hoped." She almost seems ashamed of herself as she says this, like she's not used to being wrong (or perhaps _in_ the wrong, if she's done something impolite to this guy). "Essentially, I thought that it might help if you defused the situation with him. He told me he was friends with you." She looks at me quizzically once more. "You _are_ Radicool223, aren't you?"

My eyes widen as I draw the connection between the pegasus knowing me and the fact that I've had more than one unfortunate run-in with a tan pegasus so far. It has to be that Tanner guy that Night so vehemently defended. "Yeah, but, uh, maybe that isn't the best idea…"

"But you'll do it, right?" she presses.

"I–uh–well–"

"Pleeease?" she asks as she puts on a pleading face, puppy eyes and all.

I'm about to say 'no', but it's nearly impossible with that face. I'm usually proud of my ability to think without bias based on how things look, but right now it seems to have deserted me on a resort trip to the Caribbean. That face breaks my resolve. "Oh, fine! Just stop with the eyes already!" I turn away so I don't have to see the face anymore. I jump slightly as I'm suddenly hugged, and turn to see that Tacosaurus has stopped the face and is now giving me a hug.

"Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!" she says repeatedly in a happy tone.

"What have I done…?" I ask myself under my breath.

**There, there's part 1. Sheesh, this was a doozy to write. I was gone for like, five days in the middle of it and then had house guests and am trying to finish up a novel… I'm surprised I got this done at all!**

**Anyway, I've planned this whole episode out for a while, so there's going to be the main issue (the whole Tanner thing) but several subplots as well.**

**I hope future chapters will be coming quickly (after a week from now, of course), and I'll see you in the next chapter of All the Elements for Disaster!**

**Radicool223 out!**


	7. Taco Tuesday (Part 2)

**So, I believe I left off here… ish.**

After my conversation with Streak and Tacosaurus, they left, and I stayed behind to continue my work on the analysis paper I'd started there. A while after that, Night Owl came in and we started talking. As it was, I'm already annoyed by her interrupting my conversation, but what she says after I tell her of my current obligations doesn't help my mood nor my stretched nerves.

"Ooh, you are dead," Night says with a huge grin on her face. "You're seriously going to fight Tanner?"

I try not to panic as the magnitude of what I've agreed to do sinks in again with this inconsiderate remark. "Look, I keep telling you that it's not a fight. We're just going to talk things over."

"You really don't know Tanner, do you?" Night rolls her eyes. "And this is all because some chick asked you to 'defuse tensions'? That's the only reaso–"

"She's not 'some chick'," I interject, a little irritated at her treatment of my situation as a source of humor at this point. "She's a charming young mare who asked for my help, _and_ she's English, _and_ she's actually quite attractive." Those last few words slip from my mouth without my noticing at first, but then I realize what I've said and frown. "Um, in a way."

"Oh, so now she's some 'quite attractive' chick, big deal," Night narrows her eyes. "What difference does that make?"

"It doesn't," I retort, setting down my pencil and staring her straight in the eye. "And what right do _you_ have to question my decisions, anyway?"

"The general right of a mare who doesn't want to see her friend beaten to a pulp! I don't want to see you get hurt, idiot!"

The cutting remark I'm about to make dies in my throat as the weight of those words sinks into me. She doesn't want me to get hurt? Since when did that happen? Had all that insensitive humor just been her way of persuasion? "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you're about to try to fight the wrestling champion of junior year, and I don't want him to do anything that could hurt you." She rolls her eyes. "Is the fact that I care about you not _completely_ obvious, or is it just because you're wearing a tie?" She reaches forward and messes with my tie a little bit. "Seriously, what's with that thing, anyway?"

"It's a perfectly fine tie," I sit up straight and dust off the tie. It's one of my best, red with white, black, and gray stripes, and I'm pretty proud of it. I can't see any reason why Night wouldn't like it, since it's partially her coloring. "And you care about me?"

"Yeah, but say it louder." She glances around at the rest of the coffee shop, where some of the other ponies have begun to stare at us, intrigued by our conversation. I spot the stallion with the sweatshirt with 'BlackGryphon' on it again talking to a pony who looks extremely similar to Applebloom. I briefly wonder if they could be twins. "I don't think everyone heard you yet," Night continues, a grin on her face. I sense the tension has been resolved, and immediately jump on that opportunity.

"Okay." I put my foreleg around her shoulders and pull her closer so that it's extremely uncomfortable for her. "Hey everyone, she cares about me!"

There's a moment of silence where nearly everyone in the shop looks over at us, and Night, too surprised to move, stares around in shock.

"Congratulations," some random mare calls out from the back corner.

"G-get the heck off of me!" Night stammers. This is the one time I've seen her flustered, and I have to admit that it's kind of cute, even though that brings all my confusion about what I feel towards her back to the forefront of my mind. "Idiot!" she mutters as she pushes me away and nearly out of my seat.

"Come on, you like it," I say with a smile.

She sticks out her tongue and returns the grin, which looks silly. "Never joke with an axe murderer, Radicool223." And just like that she's back to normal, not even a bit of residue of her anger or embarrassment. "See you back at the dorms," she says, and screws up her face, teleporting in a flash of light, presumably to where she just told me she'd see me.

I laugh a little to myself, but then look down and see that Night has accidentally left her phone on the table. I pick it up and look at it just to make sure it's hers, and sure enough, the wallpaper of Jeff the Killer confirms my suspicion.

I could probably teleport it directly to her, but if I mess up the spell at all, it could end up in another country entirely, or even on the moon. See, targeting a teleportation spell is kind of like aiming a mental slingshot. If one's mind slips in the slightest before release, it could retarget the slingshot in any direction and with any amount of tension on the rubber band. Taking into account the high amount of risk involved in doing that, I instead decide to put it in my bag and give it to her later at the dorms.

Meanwhile I go back to section three of my analysis paper, _'Lyra and Bon Bon/Sweetie Drops, Shipping Confirmed?'_

**So, that's about it for this chapter. I didn't intend it to be this short, but I want to keep some sort of consistent pattern with episode arc format, and I think four or five shortish chapters is about the right amount for one arc. Anyway, I have a plan for the next two chapters, and beware, plot complications are in store. This ain't your momma's written sitcom.**

**See you all next week, Radicool223 out!**


	8. Taco Tuesday (Part 3)

**Yes, here we go. I think this is where I left off.**

It's the day after I was forced into the agreement to help out Tacosaurus with her problem. I wasn't able to talk to this Tanner guy yesterday because I had a lot of homework due today, but right now is my only break from classes for the day, and if I can't steel my nerves enough now, I won't be able to do it for at least another two days, and I don't want the problem to linger that long.

I know that Tanner is going to back to his dorm room the moment after he's out of class, having noted that habit the day I saw him in my first class, the day I got my cutie mark. It's as if he's hiding something… or just wants to be alone, despite establishing the record of a party guy the first day, when he broke my glasses.

I trot through the glass doors into the dorm main hall and look around a little bit before heading toward the fanfiction wing. I see Tacosaurus loitering near the drama wing's door, wearing another one of her sci-fi themed things. This time it's a backpack that looks like a familiar white robot from Star Wars. She gives me a sheepish grin and busies herself with intently reading off several stacked sheets of paper, presumably some sort of drama script.

I inhale deeply and let the breath out as a sigh, preparing myself for either the fight or talking out of such of my life. I push open the stairs door and ascend them until I reach the third floor.

_You're insane, Radicool223_. I tell myself, stalling before I have to enter the hallway. _This is the absolute _craziest_ thing you've ever done, and for someone you don't even _know! I push my glasses up farther on my face and groan aloud. _But Streak knows her, so it's okay_. _Besides, this guy can't possibly be _that_ bad_.

I finally tell myself to quit wasting time, and push open the door.

The walls of the hall are painted with a blank white color, and are made out of some sort of stone, like the kind you'd see in a generic middle school hallway. All of the doors are blue, each with their own different key lock. Every inhabitant of the room is given their own key to their room, so that nobody else is able to get in without them being either in the room or present to get them in.

I run through the door numbers as I walk down the hallway to find the one that Night told me is Tanner's. 302…303… 304…305. That's the one. I take another deep breath and knock on the door. Another pony besides Tanner answers it. He's a pegasus too, but he's considerably less bulky, and has a red coat with a brown mane. He glances at me earnestly, allowing me to infer that he's not as much of a jerk as his roommate, and also that his eyes are blue. "You're new," he says simply. "What's up?"

"I'm here to see Tanner, if he's in," I explain, trying to look past him, which isn't easy, since the door is only open a crack.

The pegasus looks back into the room. "Hey Tanner!"

"What?"

I'm surprised by the voice I hear coming out of the room. It doesn't sound a thing like the Tanner that I've encountered before. I mean sure, it's the same voice pitch, and same… well, it's pretty much the same thing, but used in a different tone. This one is less… I can't describe it well, but it seems like if I was reading a negative youtube comment with it, it might sound less offensive.

"Some guy's here to see you," the guy in the door replies. "His name's…" He glances at me to prompt me, and I hurriedly tell him my name. "Radicool223. You know him?"

"No idea who he is. What's he want?"

This time I don't wait for a prompt, and tell him my business quickly. "He says he wants to talk about some British chick."

That's not the _exact_ words I used to describe it, but it seems to at least catch Tanner's attention. "British? Well, I like the accent well enough. Let him in."

The guy opens the door fully, and I walk into the room. My mind immediately goes to possible escape routes the moment he closes the door behind me, leaving the room. The only one that I can see is the window, and that's no good because it's three stories off the ground, and teleportation won't work because if I try to go downward I could potentially seal myself inside the earth.

Tanner himself is sitting on the bottom bunk of one of the two bunk beds, scribbling what looks like shorthand words into a notebook. I take a few steps forward to try to see what he's writing in it, but before I can, he quickly snaps it shut. "None of your business." He glares at me, standing up. "Why exactly do you want to talk about some British girl?"

I clear my throat and try to figure out a way to approach this tactfully. "Well, do you have any recollection of a unicorn with a British accent?"

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, a lot of 'em. Get more specific."

"This particular unicorn happens to have white fur."

"Still a lot to choose from."

"She has a blonde mane."

"Keep going."

"You got into an argument with her recently."

"Oh yeah, her." Tanner laughs harshly, grinning. "Man, she was mad, and over nothing at all." He rolls his eyes again. "I mean, who cares if I think Doctor Who is stupid?"

I simply nod along to his statements, trying to get him to keep going. It's a technique that I learned some psychologists use to get their patients to elaborate on their thoughts without too much interrogation. I feel a bit underhanded using this tactic in normal conversation, but it seems to be working so far.

"I probably should find her and settle that argument once and for all," Tanner muses, putting his notebook inside his pillowcase and making his way towards the door. "Thanks for the reminder, nerd."

I make a snap decision and take three steps that place me in between him and the door. "Yeah, about that–she kind of asked me to come here and ask you to leave the conversation alone–"

"Oh, so that's why you're here." The tan pegasus glares at me. "Because your little girlfriend told you to."

I frown. "Well, she's not my girlfriend, and she didn't _tell_ me, she _asked_…" When the glower doesn't disappear, I grin sheepishly and fake a cough. "And that's not important, is it?"

I can sense the doors of communication begin to close again as he starts to push past me to get to the door, but then an idea comes to my mind. "If you won't do it because I asked, do it because both this girl and I are friends of Night Owl."

He freezes, and after a moment of silence, lets out a long groan. He turns back around to face me, and I can see the frustration in his face. "Seriously? Night's using that stupid thing again as blackmail?"

"Huh?" I'm confused for a moment, but then realize that this is the perfect way to get him to do what I came here for. "Uh, yeah. That thing. If you don't let that argument go–and don't leave me alone–she's going to tell everyone in the building about it."

"Just because she…" Tanner's sentence trails off into unintelligible muttering, much like Streak's sometimes do (though when she does it it's endearing), and he groans again, jabbing a hoof in my face. "Fine! You win, Radicool223! I'll leave you and that British girl alone, but only if _you_ never talk to me again."

"Deal." Somehow I know that my end of the bargain is never going to get held up, but at least the current situation is defused.

"Now get out."

"Gladly."

I hastily leave the room, letting the door close shut behind me and lock me out. My pace is quicker than before as I trot down the hallway, through the door to the stairwell, down three flights of stairs, and out into the main lobby, where Tacosaurus is waiting patiently, her blue eyes bright with curiosity at the outcome of my mission.

"So, how did it go?" she asks earnestly, pushing a strand of her mane out of her eyes.

I take the moment to wipe the sweat I didn't know had appeared off my forehead as I say with the slightest hint of a smile, "He's not going to press the issue."

I'm immediately assaulted with a bone-crushing hug. Tacosaurus is now squeezing me tighter than I'm comfortable with, and the air is sucked out of my lungs by the sheer force of it. "Radicool223, you are the BEST! I could kiss you right now!"

I try to say what I normally would when given that line, which is, 'go ahead' (and has only worked once in my life), but the sound that ends up coming out is most accurately compared to a waterlogged kazoo. I can choke out a few words, though, and use them wisely. "Killing–me–"

She seems to hear this, because she releases me from my hug prison, grinning apologetically. "Sorrysorrysorry… Bit overenthusiastic?"

"There's the understatement of the year…" I mutter, stretching my back and popping the last few vertebrae that Tacosaurus' hug of death missed. "And you're welcome."

She smiles hugely, adjusting her glasses, which had been knocked awry by the hug. "I owe you big for this one." She gives me another, much lighter hug, but then jumps at a sudden vibration, backing away with a slight blush. "Er, is there something wrong with your bag, or is it just me?"

I glance skeptically down at my bag, which hasn't displayed any signs of unusual activity all day. It doesn't seem to have done anything, but I undo the zipper all the same, and realize what that vibration was: Night Owl's phone was resting at the part of the bag that Tacosaurus' hug pressed against herself, and it must've received a text message or email or something, making it vibrate. "Jumpy much?" I ask with a laugh, resealing my bag. "It's just a phone." However, the mention of the phone has reminded me that I should probably return it to its actual owner. "Uh, Tacosaurus? I've got to go. See you around!"

As I turn to leave, I hear her give a 'goodbye', and wave back over my shoulder as I enter the stairway once more and begin my climb to the fourth floor.

**Whee, more things happening! Well, at least this chapter's twice as long as the last one. See you all next chapter!**

**Radicool223 out!**


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